The Sweeter Side of Death
by Siren of Crepusculars
Summary: In the sweeter side of life, I might have existed peacefully. But in this world of death and destruction, I am only another monster that has to be put down. Maybe in the sweeter side of death, I'll exist with purpose.
1. Prelude

warnings: character death, depression, loneliness, one-sided yaoi, neko!Harry(Haru), au, serious angst and drama, abuse

disclaimer: sadly, I don't own naruto because then sasori would be human and all mine! -cackles-

beta: none, so forgive me for any stupid mistakes.

updates are every mondays and fridays.

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**Prelude: _The Sweeter Side of Death_**

* * *

_In the sweeter side of nothingness, _

_there is nothing __that I wouldn't do _

_to keep you alive. _

* * *

"Gaara!" The cry echoed out, revertabrating off the trees around them. His green eyes remained on the unmoving figure. It was now or never. He stepped away from Sakura, feeling the girl's eyes on him. The question burned on the back of his chest, but she would understand. He stood beside Naruto, resting a hand on the taller boy's shoulder, leaning forward.

"All will be fine, Naruto," he said. Kneeling, his hand sliding from Naruto's shoulder, he crawled the last few inches to Gaara's body. The cuts across his body stung heavily as he hovered over the still body of the Kazekage. With unabridged certainty of what he was going to do, what he _had_ to do, he placed his hands on the unmoving chest of Gaara, breathing deeply. The others watched on behind him, unsure of what he was doing. _It is better this way_. The voice of his past self whispered in his mind. _It is better for everyone this way_.

Slowly, he closed his eyes, blocking out all other senses, except for touch. His body vibrated minutely, too quick for the regular eye to catch. He felt the telltale burn in his stomach, the rush as chakra came to the surface, bursting out of his hands into the unmoving body beneath him. His body stiffened as he forced the chakra from his life's energy into Gaara's body. He heard the faint noise of gasping, felt the rush of someone trying to reach out to him, but being stopped short.

"What is he doing?" the rustic baritone of Naruto rang out.

"He's saving Gaara," Sakura intoned solemnly.

Somewhere within him, he felt gratitude towards the girl. She truly was a strong ninja, and would only grow stronger with time. Silence overtook once more, as he pushed more and more chakra into the body underneath him. Already he was beginning to feel the pain of fatigue. The chakra was spewing out at a fast rate, good for Gaara, a warning sign for him. He wondered for a moment what would happen when he was gone. As a whole, the Fire Country would be grateful he was gone. There would be no one to miss him, to mourn his death as anything short but a long awaited miracle. He opened his eyes again, to stare down at the face of his Kazekage, of the seventeen year old man he had grown to love, despite everyone telling him that a monster like him would never know true love.

They were wrong. All of them. He _did_ know such a feeling, and it was that feeling that allowed him to continue down this path of suicide he was setting himself on.

"Naruto," he said abruptly, gesturing with his head for the boy to come closer.

"Hai," Naruto answered, kneeling in front of him.

Staring directly into sharp blue eyes, Haru spoke his green eyes watering slightly, as his breathing came in rapid spurts. "You are a good man in possession of a strange power, hmph." He paused, smiling slightly, "It was an honor to have met you, though I doubt you would say the same for me." He bowed his head, unsure of how to continue, but knowing for his own peace of mind he must.

* * *

_Even if it means I give myself. _

_Everything and utterly. _

* * *

"Love and friendship, those are the strongest thing in a shinobi's arsenal, though many would say differently. But they don't understand the true nature of a shinobi," Haru choked. A tear streaked down his face. "Gaara...Gaara, he doesn't know it, but he taught me both, and in this short time you have taught me the same. Growing up hated, never to be looked upon with anything but disgust...I had never known such a thing."

Another tear fell unchecked onto Gaara's chest, "You will be a great Hokage, Naruto-senpai." He heard the boy gasped, as he revealed the not-so-secret desire the seventeen year old held. "There is no doubt in my mind of what you and Gaara can, will," he corrected himself, "achieve."

Haru tilted his head, looking behind him, to see that some of the other shinobi had bowed their heads in shame. He shook his head, "I hold no grudges. I never had. Hell, I even told myself that I hated me too."

"Haru-kun-"

"Sakura-chan," Haru addressed, blinking slowly. The chakra flow was still going strong; the fatigue and slowness beginning to settle in. It would be time soon. The thought, one that would have inspired a spurt of fear at one point, only brought along a sense of peace, of relief. Soon everything would be over.

"Hai," Sakura said sadly. He nodded. She knew what was happening, what he was doing.

"You will grow stronger than the female ninja who taught you," he smirked, chuckling lightly at the widening of eyes. "In less than two hours you have saved my life more than anyone ever dared, and for that I thank you."

He grunted, losing his balance for a moment.

As the last of the chakra left him, he whispered his last words.

"And so, the monster was killed. Dead at his own hands, his last requiem playing in the soul of the one he loved."

His lips curved into a sad smile, as he fainted, his green eyes closing to the image of an awakening Gaara.

As Haru's body crumpled into itself, Sakura rushed forward to catch it, huddling close as she did so. Behind her, the others were silent, unable to speak as the shock of what happened sunk in.

"Haru," Sakura spoke shakily. She caressed the black hair, gripping the strands tightly, as she pressed the sixteen year old's face into her chest, her tears wetting him. "You're not a monster." And how she wished that others could see it.

She stared forward, observing how Naruto steadied Gaara, whose eyes hadn't left the unmoving body in her arms. The sand jinchuuriki's eyes flickered for a moment between emotions, confusion, shock, and settling finally on understanding.

"Is he..." the Kazekage struggled to voice his question, his mouth hanging open.

Sakura pressed her face into Haru's hair, a silent answer. She turned away from the narrowed gaze. Gaara reached out, as if to touch Haru, before thinking better of it, and facing the crowd of sand nin who had come to rescue him.


	2. Part One: Chapter One

warnings: character death, one-side yaoi, etc.

notes: gaara/harry one-sided, if you didn't catch it in the first chapter.

updates mondays and fridays

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**Part One: Young Blood **

**Chapter One**

"Hey, boys, look it's the _freak_!" The voice was a familiar one, creeping up Haru's skin menancingly. He scooted further back into the tube, holding back his frightened whimpers. He wasn't a _baby_ after all. The ten-year old scowled. He wasn't _scared_ either. Despite his brave thoughts, the ten year old stayed in his place, opting to stay silent, listening to the conspiring whispers outside his hideout. It was more like his home, but in his mind the two words were interchangeable.

He scrunched his body into a ball, leaning away from the searching hands that had appeared on either side of the tube. For once in his life, he was thankful for his small size. The boys, too big in size, to actually climb into the tube, could only snatch at him, growling as they tried to reach their prey.

"Aw, forget it," one of the boys complained.

"Yeah, let's go get somebody else," another one added.

"Until next time, _freak_," the leader spat after a while.

After what seemed like hours, but was only a few seconds, Haru heard the telltale sound of shoes crushing gravels under their soles. He breathed a sigh of relief, uncurling himself from his ball. He peeked through one of the tube holes, out into the growing darkness, shivering slightly from the growing breeze that had begun to pick up. The winter air nipped and teased his body and soon he found himself curled back into a ball again, under a ratty blanket, trembling.

As the silence carried on, Haru's somach grumbled. He frowned down at it, rubbing it with one of his free hands. How many days had it been since he actually ate? The food in the nearby trash cans didn't count as he was more than likely to be chased off for being a _monster_, a _freak_. He sniffed pathetically, an all too familiar sting prickling his eyes. He pressed his body further against the shell of the tube. He _wasn't_ going to cry. He was a big boy; he could _handle_ it. It wasn't like it was anything new. It was the same thing over and over again. To prove a point to himself, he peeked under his dirtied blanket. His hands, which were more claw-like than anything, dug into his sides. The nails sharp, the nails of hunter, ready to dig into the next piece of running flesh for him to -

No! _No_. He shook his head, clearing the thoughts away and storing them in the darkest crevices of his mind. That wasn't him. That would _never _be him. He closed his eyes, tiredness overcoming his senses.

The sound of a twig snapping, however, jolted him upwards from his position. Haru winced as the top of his head bumped unforgivenly against the tube. He forced himself to focus on the noise rather than the pain, pressing his ear against the shell. _Snap!_ His body jumped again. His mind drew up the image of the group of boys having returned to exact their revenge on him from the failure of the first beating, or almost-beating. He blinked quickly. They wouldn't come back, he acknowledged logically. Besides they had better things to do to beat him up, they often reminded. But those reminders were usually voiced as they were beating him...continuously. Their words about as truthful as anyone else who was out to get him.

None.

Shakily, Haru inhaled. "They're gone," he whispered aloud to himself. He did this often, to reassure himself since there was no one else around to do the job. The ridicule and other abuse of society he recieved practically pushed him to do so. It was a way to survive. His ears flattened to his head. Survive. That was all he did, day to day. It was saddening, true, but it also inspiration.

He clenched his hands together, teeth elongating at the spurt of emotion rushing through him.

_"Nata no okosama wa, ima kara, saigo made norowa shinakereba naranai." (Thy child shall be cursed from now until the end.) _

The words followed him wherever he went, reminding of what he was at that point in time and what he lost so long ago and of what he planned to regain in the future. He wrapped a hand around his neck, feeling for the locket that had once belonged to his mother. It was one of the only things he had from before. That and his blanket. The raggedy, torn blanket that had seen better days, happy days. He smiled in bittersweet remembrance, lightly touching the soft cover. Its green design had faded to brown and the once white background turned to black.

Haru's smile turned cold. "Why couldn't you do the right thing?" It was his mother fault. Everything. It was her fault. She couldn't do the right thing. When the time came to be the _responsible_, dependable warrior, she couldn't _do it_. She was too _weak_. And now it all it had gotten him was hate and disgust, while she was six feet under next to his father.

"Didn't you love me enough?" The loudness of the shout made his ears twitch. "Didn't you," he repeated softer.

She must not have, he concluded. She couldn't have. His mother hadn't wanted to save his life, so now he was a cursed child. Just like the words said. He looked upwards, was she satisfied? Did his suffering satisfy whatever sadistic pleasure she could take from it?

He laughed harshly. Suddenly, sleep didn't seem so promising.

* * *

The sun sat in the middle of the sky, lunch came and went. For the most part, the streets were empty except for the occassional villager walking to the shaded market or a family's house. Sand dune houses provided minute shade before stepping out into the scorching heat. Soldiers stood post at the critical points of the city, watchful and alert. Attacks, or the threats of them, had become a more serious issue and now paranoia was beginning to settle in among them.

Haru lay crouched under a small shadow. His tube had gotten too hot for him to spend the night in; the metal burning into his skin. He panted, mouth parched, but knowing that water would probably be one of the last things he would come by. It was amazing the contrast between night and day in a desert. A fact he pondered, but no longer contemplated seriously. He dug his fingers into the dirt, revelling in the feel. His tail curled behind him, wagging every few moments, while his ears remained pert and alert. In times like the ones the Sand Village was entering, he was more likely to be captured for some false accusation. They had done it before.

He trembled from the thought. "They would have to catch me first," he told himself. He wouldn't be led to his impending execution, although the entire Village was probably clamoring for his capture. It wouldn't surprise him.

Haru was different from them. Differences frightened those who didn't understand them; they frightened _him_, and he was the main one who had to live with it. The jabs at his parentage, the mocking of his clothing, everything was a result of those differences. It made him come to the conclusion that being different only caused problems.

"The only bad thing is my problems happened to be _killer_." He laughed dryly at his poor attempt at a joke.

Slowly, he peeked his head out of his shadow. The guards could be anywhere, but with his luck they would be just around the corner. He wasn't in the mood for a fight, or a chase, the heat already beginning to niggle in his brain and destroy what little focus he had. Haru needed to find shelter, _cool_ shelter, or he was sure he would die of dehydration and overheating. He sniffed the air, wrinkling it as dust clogged his nostrils. Sniffing again, he didn't catch any varying scents.

Confidently he stepped out of his shadow. Maybe the day would be a good one after all.

* * *

**how was it? this is the beginning of the actual story. harry is ten as mentioned. he gets older as the story progresses, but i thought this would be a good place to start. **


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